


The Further I Slide

by betweenthebliss



Series: Badly Drawn [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: 5000-10000 Words, Away Mission Gone Wrong, Community: st_xi_kink, F/M, Matchmaking, Romance, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweenthebliss/pseuds/betweenthebliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When you've got James Kirk for a best friend, you get used to being figured out way sooner than you'd like." Five times Kirk tried to play matchmaker to McCoy and Uhura, and one time he didn't have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Further I Slide

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose I couldn't get away with being in this fandom and *not* ending up writing a 'five times' fic at some point. Thanks a million to raindissolved for the stellar-as-usual beta job, and to douxquemiel for listening to me drunkenly read this aloud that one time. ).

   **I.**  
"I know your secret," Jim says one day over breakfast. McCoy looks up with a grunt, half-lidded eyes daring Kirk to elaborate. "You've got a crush, Bones. You don't have to bother trying to deny it."

McCoy, eating his oatmeal, doesn't say anything. He knows it's pointless; when you've got James Kirk for a best friend, you get used to being figured out way sooner than you'd like. You also learn that saying nothing works to your advantage; it lets him think whatever he wants and removes the necessity for you to actually participate in the conversation.

So he shrugs one shoulder, which Jim takes as encouragement to keep talking. "I think it's a great idea, seriously. I mean you're great, Bones, but you could do with a little unlacing sometimes."

His cheeky grin makes McCoy want to smack him. Instead he rolls his eyes and takes a gulp of his coffee. "Are you done now, or is my entire breakfast going to be interrupted with this drivel?" he snaps.

Jim grins, that smile he gives when he's trying to seem sweet and innocent, and just raises his hand, waving. "Uhura!" he calls, and McCoy's eyes widen, his jaw clenching.

"Jim, so help me God--" Uhura drops into the seat next to him, smiling as she cuts into her grapefruit.

"Congratulations, Captain," she says conversationally. "I don't think you've made it to breakfast a day this week. What's your secret, McCoy?" She turns toward him and he manages a slight smile before Kirk bursts in.

"No secret. You just need the clearance to access my security codes and the guts to break in and dump my ass out of bed." Uhura snorts a laugh, casting another grin McCoy's way.

"That's not what happened," he protests, but his heart's not in it. That's a much better story than what _did_ actually happen; and it made her laugh, so what's the harm?

Sometimes Jim's ideas aren't all bad.

 

   **II. **  
"Why don't you just talk to her?" Kirk asks, as if it's been five minutes since they left off this conversation instead of almost a week.

"Talk to who, and about what?" McCoy retorts. Jim gives him a significant look, and he rolls his eyes. "You're imagining things, Jim. I don't have _feelings_ for Uhura." He tries to inject a lethal amount of scorn into the sentence, but even he can tell it falls a little flat. Jim can usually tell when he's lying, or when he's getting creative with the truth.

"Bones, I know you," Jim replies, true to form. "You act different around her. Don't you think so, Spock?" He directs this at the Vulcan who's waiting for them in the transporter room.

"Do I think what, Captain?" he replies, and McCoy's fingers dig in deep to Jim's arm.

"Will you please shut up about her in front of him?" he growls through gritted teeth.

"What, it's okay, Spock doesn't care. Bones has a thing for Uhura," he says, shaking McCoy's hand free and turning toward Spock with a stage whisper.

McCoy feels his face burn as Spock turns toward him with a quirked eyebrow. "Indeed," he says tonelessly, and McCoy's wondering if he's about to get a death stare or possibly the neck pinch.

Spock shares a look with Jim, then turns back to McCoy with the same expression on his face-- the same, but this time McCoy gets the distinct impression he's being laughed at.

"I agree that your behavior toward Lieutenant Uhura is different than it is to the rest of the crew, though you go out of your way to mask it. And while your mannerisms are somewhat rougher than I believe she is accustomed to, I will not deny your intellect and conversation are more than adequate to keep her interest."

McCoy tries to say six things at once and ends up spluttering while Jim and Spock exchange another look.   
"See, Bones, I told you," Jim says, slinging his arm around McCoy's shoulders as he leads the doctor, still red-faced and protesting in half-sentences, onto the transporter pad. "Spock, beam us down. See you when we get back."

McCoy is so busy being embarrassed that he doesn't notice the amused tilt to Spock's expression as he engages the transporter to send them down to the surface, or the grin that lingers on Jim's face for some time after they've beamed down.

 

   **III. **  
"So Uhura."

The voice comes from behind her left shoulder, and she turns, only to find the captain has already swung around to her other side and is motioning to the bartender to give him whatever she's having. "Here's the thing," he says, and she settles back on her chair with a bemused smile playing about her lips.

"There's a thing?" she repeats, eyebrows arched, not quite smiling. They'll have known each other five years next month, and giving him a hard time still hasn't gotten old.

"The thing is, I need your help." He's smiling, but he sounds serious, so she shrugs, sipping her drink. "I'm all ears."

He leans in a little, his voice quiet, but there's no hint of flirtation. "Bones-- Doctor McCoy-- he's kind of having a rough night. And I've tried to snap him out of it, but he just ignores me-- actually looked like he was thinking about dumping a drink over my head earlier."

Nyota smirks at that image; she doubts McCoy would actually do it, at least not in public, but it's funny to imagine nonetheless. "And you think I can help you, how, exactly?"

Kirk shrugs one shoulder, looks down at where his finger is tracing patterns in the damp rings on the bar. "I dunno," he says, "maybe go talk to him for a little bit?"

She looks skeptical. "And say what? The Captain thinks you're being a stick-in-the-mud and sent me over to do his dirty work?"

Kirk stares at her for a second before saying, completely expressionless, "I cannot believe you actually just used the phrase 'stick-in-the-mud'. That's awesome-- you know what, yes, say exactly that." His hand on her shoulder is completely impersonal as he turns her toward the table where McCoy is sitting, shoving her gently.

"How do you know he won't dump a drink over _my_ head?" she protests, but she walks anyway, sliding into the seat across from the doctor with a guilty smile.

"Hi," is all she gets out before McCoy's head snaps up with this defensive look like he's expecting an attack. "Whoa," she says, setting down her drink, "You're safe, doctor, I promise Spock didn't actually teach me how to do the neck pinch."

He begrudges a half-hearted smile and mutters, "Kirk send you over here?"

She nods, her smile guiltier than ever, rolling her shoulder in a little shrug. "Seemed to think I'd be less in danger of ending up wearing your drink than he was."

McCoy snorts, rolling his eyes. "He oughta know better'n that-- I'd never waste good whiskey dumping it on someone." Suiting word to deed, he downs the rest of his drink and sets the glass down, eyeing her intently. "And you decided to come over because?" he prompts, and she's momentarily at a loss.

"I'm not-- I guess I thought--" she searches for the words, but the truth is she doesn't really know why she came over.

"Guess you thought the sad sack doctor shouldn't be left all by his lonesome?" His voice is suddenly sharp, and before she even realizes he's moved he's standing beside the table. "I don't need your pity, Uhura," he says, rough and low, not meeting her eyes.

He strides away and she turns to watch him, confused and taken aback. She looks toward Kirk, whose eyes are following his friend as he leaves the bar, and thinks with a twist of her mouth that at least someone probably understands what just happened here, because it's a total mystery to her.

 

   **IV. **  
It wasn't out of the ordinary for McCoy to be part of a landing party, but it was unusual for Uhura to beam down unless they needed her to be a translator. McCoy isn't under any illusions as to why she's included-- Jim's vocabulary is extensive, but "subtlety" isn't part of it.

Neither is "plausible deniability", apparently, from the shit-eating grin Kirk wears in the transporter room when he comes to see them off. McCoy, Uhura, two science techs and two security officers, and does Jim think he's a moron and won't notice how he's orchestrated this landing party to pan out? The science techs are joined at the hip, best friends or maybe dating, nobody knows (McCoy can't even be bothered to remember their names, but he knows you never see one without the other) which means when they split up it'll be the techs with one security ensign and him and Uhura with the other.

He's almost bitter enough to force Tweedledee and Tweedledum to split up, but he won't give Jim the satisfaction of knowing he even noticed the scheme in the first place.

The planet's a cool one, it feels like late fall would in Georgia and he's glad for his jacket. Uhura has the tricorder with a recording attachment added on; ostensibly she's there to record anything they might hear of the natives, who are notorious recluses to the point where no one knows what their language even sounds like.

"Larraby, why don't you and Edwards head that way," she says, reading the scans and pointing up into the rocky woods to their left. "McCoy and I will take the west ridge, and we'll meet back here in two hours." She's good at taking charge, he realizes, better than anyone ever gives her a chance to show.

He stops himself then; he doesn't need to daydream, he needs to pay attention to where they are and what's going on around them. He doesn't want to become a necessary part of this landing party.

Ed and Larry (McCoy remembers their names now, or the names they go by, anyway) move off with one security officer in tow, and Matthews (the guy Jim persists in calling Cupcake, for reasons still entirely a mystery to him) follows close behind Uhura, McCoy trailing along after them with his hands in his pockets.

"Remind me what we're looking for, exactly?" he says as they pick their way through a faint trail leading across the top of the ridge.

"Any sign of the natives' habitation," Uhura replies over her shoulder. "Barring that, just scans of the planet's surface, what sorts of ecosystems there are, the life forms it supports."

"Sounds thrilling," McCoy mutters, cursing as he stubs his toe on a rock and trips. "Remind me to thank Jim for sending me on a field trip."

Uhura pauses and looks back at him, her expression cool. "I'm sorry if exploration isn't to your taste, Doctor, but it is our mission."

Embarrassed into abruptness, he replies, "It shouldn't be mine. Being a doctor's what's to my taste-- that's why I am one."

She looks impatient, but her tone doesn't change. "Then I suggest you take it up with the Captain-- I'm sure he can arrange for someone more adventurous to take part in the next landing party." She turns away without another word, making it clear the conversation is over.

Annoyed, even more embarrassed than before, he lets Matthews get between them and follows along after the man, wishing like hell he was anywhere else. Below them to the right is a valley with a sluggish river at the bottom; to their left the ground slopes much more gently, but it's still hardly welcoming. This place was hewn out of boulders, it seems; he can't help wondering what could've created it, what sort of species could call it home.

They never do get a chance to find out. All of a sudden a piercing whine fills the air, jarring and shaking McCoy with a nausea so deep and instantaneous he nearly passes out. He does double over, stumbling, barely registering that Uhura and Matthews are doing the same. The noise stops and he barely has time to straighten before they're being shot at.

McCoy has been on landing parties that came under phaser fire before, but somehow it doesn't get any less terrifying. They're practically out in the open; closest cover is a big boulder ten meters away. Matthews points at it, shouting something he can't hear for the dreadful buzzing still ringing his ears.

He runs, Uhura too, and just as they get to the rock she jerks back and cries out, an awful scream of pain. They fall to the ground behind the rock and he turns her arm, his eyes widening. It's not just a phaser burn; there's something blue and oozing burning into her flesh, spreading slowly down toward her elbow.

"McCoy to Enterprise," he yells into his communicator, biting down all the curse words he wants to use, "we're taking heavy fire, alert sickbay we have wounded and get us the hell out of here _now_."

She leans against the rock, gasping for breath, and her eyes are huge and glazed with pain. "I'm okay," she insists, "it just really hurts but it's okay..." She trails off and he looks at the wound, his stomach giving a vicious twist; the transporter engages before he's forced to reply.

Hours later surgery is over and she's sleeping in a biobed, her arm wrapped tight in a bandage and braced by a sling. McCoy is in his office, working on his third glass of scotch. The door slides open and Jim is standing there looking sorry, whether for his friend or for himself, McCoy can't tell and can't be bothered to care.

"Get out of here, Jim," he grits out, tossing back the rest of the glass and blinking away the sting as it slides down his throat.

"Bones, look, I'm sorry," he begins, but McCoy is not in the mood. He gets to his feet, and whatever his face looks like must be pretty terrible because it actually shuts him up.

"You should be sorry. She could've died, Jim, or I could've been the one injured and then who would've operated on me, and for your idiotic scheme--"

"It is not because of that," he protests, "those people would've been hostile no matter who we brought down, it could've been me injured just as easy, or Spock--"

"--but it wasn't, Jim, it was her, and maybe it would've happened no matter what, but maybe it wouldn't have. Maybe with you or Spock there we would've walked a different route, wouldn't have been so open to fire. Who knows? The point is, no more," he says with utter finality. "No more of this bullshit matchmaking from you."

Jim nods silently, waits a moment before adding, "You're right, Bones. I'm sorry."

He leaves, and McCoy slumps back into his chair, reaching for the bottle again. "Not as sorry as I am."

 

   **V. **  
Uhura gets into the turbolift still reading, barely even aware there's another person in there as she absently hits the button for the bridge. Her arm still aches a little and the scar itches like hell, but it's mending. She's well aware that if it weren't for McCoy being ten times the surgeon he gives himself credit for being, she'd probably be cybernetic from the shoulder down.

When the lift shudders to a stop she looks up, only just realizing that it's the doctor himself in the lift with her, fists clenched at his sides, looking mad enough to spit. She looks at the display and sees the same thing McCoy just has-- the lift has come to a stop not at the bridge, but between decks three and two.

McCoy looks from the display to her and back, then puts his hands over his face and shakes his head, muttering something that sounds like, "I'm gonna kill him."

She wants to smile, but can't quite bring herself to. He makes her nervous for reasons she can't pin down; she hates the feeling, hates not knowing what she's done to annoy him. "It'll come back soon," she murmurs, adding mentally, _It had better._

"It'd better," he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall, looking everywhere but at her.

Stung into her own annoyance, she goes back to reading. If he's going to be insufferable, well, there's a reason she carries a padd with a few novels on it everywhere she goes. She leans her good side against the wall and becomes the very picture of unconcerned study.

It isn't until she realizes she's just read a paragraph for the third time that she thinks maybe she's not as nonchalant as she'd like. She lets her hands fall to her sides with an impatient sigh and turns toward him, the words halfway out of her mouth before she thinks about them.

"I'd really like to know what your problem is with me." He looks stunned-- probably didn't think she'd noticed, she thinks-- and she goes on, "I get the gruff bedside manner thing, believe me. And don't think I don't appreciate it-- you saved my arm and probably my life. But we've got three more years before our mission is up, so it might be in everyone's best interests if you'd tell me what I did to piss you off so bad you can't manage to carry on a civil conversation with me."

He still looks stunned, and his mouth works silently for a moment, opening and closing with no words coming out. Finally he closes it and swallows, shaking his head.

"Forgive me," McCoy says, and it's the last thing Nyota expects. "It wasn't ever my intention to come off crass. I'm just that way with everyone-- well, everyone except Jim. I don't make friends easily." He pauses, and then adds more deliberately, "You didn't do anything... that's a promise."

"That's very nice, Doctor, except you're forgetting-- my best friend on this ship is your Head Nurse. So I get a pretty regular dose of 'Oh, Len said the funniest thing today,' and 'Would you believe what Len did for so-and-so?'"   
Her voice goes high and her head gives a little toss as she imitates Christine, and she can feel her lip curling; an ugly expression, but she can't help it. It hurts, knowing he's crude and dismissive around her for a reason, and that he's not telling her what that reason is.

"You're a big softie, McCoy. You let her call you _Len_, for God's sake-- do you think I don't know-- _what_," she cuts herself off, because he's doing his best to hide a smirk, and his best is definitely not good enough.

Her calling attention to it only seems to make it worse; he tries to talk and practically snorts in an effort to keep in a laugh. As soon as he opens his mouth again he's done for, and for half a minute he just lets his head rest against the wall of the lift as he laughs. She just stands there, completely at a loss, a hundred feelings she can't put names to churning in her stomach.

"Your impression," he says finally, getting himself under control, "of Chapel. It's, ah God she'd kill me, but it's really not bad. Just twist your hair up with a dozen padd styluses stuck through it, and you could take that on the road." He cracks up again and this time she can't help but join him; he's right, after all, about Christine's hair.

"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, his voice soft. He's not looking at her anymore, but at his feet, giving the air of a kid dolefully scuffing his shoes. "For what happened in the bar that time, and down on the planet. I'm not-- I don't have anything against you, Uhura."

She believes him, finally, but she still doesn't understand. On impulse she takes a step toward him, but his head whips up and his expression is so full of dread it's like a physical slap. She stiffens and steps back again, her eyes fixed on the panel beside the door, wishing desperately for Scotty to hurry the hell up and get them moving again.

"Hey, what, no, I'm sorry," McCoy says immediately, and now he's coming towards her, a hand on her elbow, turning her to face him. "Look, Uhura, I... I'm bad at this, okay? Like, really bad, worse than anyone you've ever met, I guarantee. I'm cranky and I hate people and I make it my business not to let anything surprise me, except you keep doing it anyway and I never know what to say. And Jim's an idiot, he promised he'd stop doing this, but he just can't keep his fool nose out of my business, even when I made him swear--"

"McCoy, I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about," she interrupts, even though she thinks she may actually have a little bit of an idea, and the thought is holding up all her brain's other processing functions while she tries to make sense of Leonard McCoy possibly trying to tell her he likes her.

"Kirk. He keeps trying to set us up, put us in each other's way so we'll have to-- I don't know, I mean it's Jim, I don't even think he knows what he thinks will happen, but he obviously doesn't trust me enough to find a way to tell you on my own how I..." He seems to realize what he's said, then, and looks away embarrassed, muttering, "Anyway, after the last time I made him swear he'd quit, but I guess he decided that wasn't a promise he had to keep."

For the first time in a long time, Nyota finds herself speechless. It takes her a minute, maybe more, to realize she's just staring at him, she hasn't answered him. She has no idea what to say; he's one to talk about surprise, she thinks wryly.

She gives a little shake of her head to snap herself out of it, and tries to find something to say, but as she opens her mouth the turbolift shudders to life. They sway, his hand hits the wall by her head to keep himself from falling on her, and she ends up with her back to the wall, sheltered by the lean of his body over hers-- oh there's space between them, sure, but not much. Their eyes lock and all of a sudden her heart is pounding, every nerve in her body on end, yearning towards him, and she can read it on his face that he's thinking it, feeling it, just as much as she is.

Except then he pushes off the wall, his eyes studiously on the floor, and before she can say anything else the door opens on Engineering and he brushes past her. She follows more slowly, in time to catch Kirk and Spock bursting out of the next turbolift, Kirk laughing too hard to stand up straight, Spock (she can read him still, time hasn't changed that, at least) looking chagrined, almost embarrassed.

Kirk catches sight of them and stops dead in his tracks, straightening with a probing look. "You guys were stuck too?" he asks, his eyes on McCoy, who looks stunned. Apparently his theory about Kirk manipulating them was wrong-- this time, at least.

"Yes sir," she cuts in smoothly, since McCoy doesn't look likely to find words anytime soon. "Good thing Scotty's on top of his game." Kirk's eyebrows go up even further, and he looks about to reply, but Scotty bounds up babbling, and there's no time for banter. They disperse, Uhura makes sure it's her and Spock alone in the lift on the way back to the bridge, and she's thankful for the few blessed minutes of silence before her shift begins.

 

   **I. **  
After he gets to sickbay (twenty minutes late thanks to the business in the turbolift, and he still can't somehow bring himself to believe Jim's entirely innocent of responsibility for that fiasco) it's a quiet day. He'll finally get to finish running those tests on the blue stuff he scooped out of Uhura's arm during her surgery, and he has six different medicines to replicate and prep stocks of hyposprays with-- a boring day, but God, he's looking forward to it.

Chapel's already in the lab when he gets there, humming to herself as she decants the saline solution that'll be the base for the meds they need. "Morning, doc," she says, tossing him a smile, and he grins back, counting four styluses stuck into her bun (it's early, yet).

"Quiet day ahead of us, God willing," he says, pulling on a lab coat and sticking his hands into the sonic sterilizer. Chapel nods and goes back to her work, still humming quietly. He has the inexpressible urge to hug her, just for being steady and unassuming and always there.

It is a quiet day. It's a miracle, really. Jim doesn't bother him once; in fact the only member of the bridge crew he sees is Sulu, who comes in with a glorified papercut so he can sit on a biobed flirting with Chapel while she paints the heel of his hand with liquid bandage. McCoy watches them from the lab. They both seem so young to him; his mouth sours with jealousy at how easy it seems.

He guesses that's the problem with Uhura-- she expects it to be easy because it _is_ easy for her, easy just to say what she feels, who she likes, and to expect other people to do the same. He's not like that, and he probably never will be.

Well, he concludes, he's let the cat out of the bag now, and he got exactly what he was expecting to get in return-- nothing.

It's almost a relief-- it's easier to work today than it's been in weeks, he's less distracted and more on his game. He and Chapel have a good time together, she likes hard work as much as he does and they make a good team. At the end of the day he strips off his lab coat and heads toward his quarters with his hands in his pockets; if there weren't so many people around, he'd whistle.

Inside his quarters he puts on music and hops in the shower, allowing himself the luxury of water, standing under the hot spray until his skin turns pink and his fingertips pucker. When he's done boiling he gets out, pulling on underwear and pajama pants-- he thinks as he flops onto the bed that a night of hedonistic lounging in bed with a drink and some mindless entertainment is more than due him at this point.

He's halfway through Jaws (can't believe they still show this movie, but it's enjoyable so he's not complaining) when there's a hail from outside. "Just don't know when to quit, do ya," he mutters. He has no plans to let Jim Kirk into his room tonight, or tomorrow either, to be honest. He loves the kid like a brother, but right now he's just too much for McCoy to handle.

The hail comes again, and he lets out a sigh that's half a growl. He still doesn't get up; on screen Chief Brody says "That's some bad hat, Harry," and when the third hail comes he vaults off the bed, cursing. "For God's sake, Jim, don't you goddamn know when to leave well enough the hell-- oh God," he says abruptly, after smacking the button to open the door and seeing that it is not, in fact, Jim Kirk standing outside.

"Hi," says Uhura, looking just as embarrassed as he is. No-- strike that, only half as embarrassed as he is once he remembers he's standing here without a shirt on, having just ignored her for three hails and then cursed her out.

"Hi," he says stupidly. "Sorry, I thought you were-- Jim's the only one who ever bothers me this late. Not that you're bothering me," he hurries on, wishing desperately for someone or something to kill him, "or that it's really late, I guess, just, you know. Long day."

He's ready to keep babbling like a damn idiot, but thankfully she cuts in. "Can I come in? I really-- I just want to talk to you."

"Uh," he says, he really doesn't think this is a good idea, but what is he actually going to do, say no? He steps back and motions for her to come in, thinking at least now he's saved from anyone seeing her standing outside his door. If that got back to Jim he'd really never hear the end of it.

"I'm sorry about before," he says before she can say anything, because he'd rather forego the part of the conversation where she tries to explain why it's never going to happen.

Her brow furrows and she looks genuinely confused. "You-- what for?"

He feels his eyebrow go up. "For laying all of that on you, you know, in the turbolift. It was really uncalled for and I just-- the last thing I want is to be more of a pain in your ass than I've already been." There's a piece of hair that's fallen out of her ponytail against the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and he has to tear his eyes away.

She's still for a moment, not saying anything; in the silence all of a sudden the screen behind him blares with children screaming as the shark chows down on a guy in a red rowboat. Her eyes flash to it and her face lights up with a grin. "Oh my God, I haven't seen this in forever," she blurts, moving past him to get a better view of the screen. He turns, helpless not to follow her with his eyes, and she looks back over her shoulder with an upturned tilt to her mouth. "Never pegged you for a horror fan, Doctor."

He shrugs one shoulder; he can't get more embarrassed than he already is, this is just one more log on the fire. "Nice to see blood and guts that isn't real for a change, I guess," he says, just for something to say. He doesn't even really mean it. He's never thought about why he likes scary movies, never had to before. It's as good a reason as any.

"So," she says, turning back abruptly to face him. "Are you going to stop trying to play it cool anytime soon, or am I really going to have to do all the work here?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest.

She rolls her eyes, bemusement written all over her face. "Come on, McCoy. Do you think I came over here just to listen to you backtrack and pretend I believe you?"

His eyes narrow. "I can't pretend to have any idea why you came here, Uhura." That much, at least, is true.

"Right," she says, drawing the word out with a little smirk. "I forgot, you're a doctor, not a communications officer." Her eyes sweep up his body, lingering, and by the time she gets to his face he can feel it's burning.

She crosses the space between them and pulls his hands down, uncrossing his arms. "Stop it," she says softly as he glances away; she's too close, if he looks now he won't stop looking until he's touching, and he's spent so long convincing himself this was impossible that it isn't even something he can contemplate happening.

"Stop what," he mutters, knowing he's kind of being an ass, too unnerved to stop.

Her hands slide up his arms and his breath is shortened, his pulse racing. Adrenaline, he diagnoses himself mentally. Hormones and pheromones; physical arousal is a medical condition like any other, it's just chemicals and he doesn't need to give into them.

But then she says "Look at me," and he drags his eyes up from the ground, and oh God, he's screwed. She's inches away, her face tilted up with this look, this wanting asking little smile that slices right through him, and chemicals be damned. His hands are on her hips and he's kissing her, hot and hungry, a soft groan in the back of his throat as she presses herself against him. Their arms twine around each other, her fingers teasing up his spine causing him to shudder, tearing his mouth away from hers with a breath that sounds more like a gasp.

"Do you get it, or should I write you out an invitation?" she breathes, hot fingers along his jaw and flattened against his hip, and God, he could stop shivering anytime now.

"Jesus, Uhura, I'm a doctor, not a mind reader," he breathes, grinning like a damn fool and not caring one bit. "You weren't exactly, y'know, obvious."

She grabs his hands as they reach for her again and uses them to pull him to the bed. They only get halfway before he's kissing her again, and they tumble onto the mattress together. Her hands are all over his bare skin and it's been too damn long since someone touched him like this; he's so turned on he's practically shaking. On his side, their legs tangled together, he does what he wanted to do earlier; kissing the juncture of her neck and shoulder, licking the line of her collarbone, he stifles a groan at the noise she makes and the way she arches into his mouth.

"God, you feel good," she murmurs into his hair, one hand cupping the back of his head while the other traces the jut of his shoulder blade.

"I'm also at a disadvantage," he mumbles, "you're really overdressed for this."

Her laugh buzzes low and warm in his ear, "Touche," she says, and starts pushing him back so she can sit up and get rid of her clothes. His body's acting pretty much on its own by now though, and it's got other ideas; he grabs her wrist and pulls, she swings her knee over and settles into his lap, both hands spearing through his hair while his fingers work the buttons of her shirt.

Time seems to stretch, a minute turning into three while he tries to make his hands obey his brain as she bends her head, her mouth on his neck steadily obliterating anything resembling functional thinking.

"Hey," she says just before her breath catches as he undoes the last button and his hands skitter against her stomach; he looks up and she's gone still, her hands loose around his neck again. "You really okay with this?" His eyebrow shoots up and she adds quickly, "I know, maybe a little late for it now, but I don't want to end up with either of us thinking this was a bad idea."

His nose brushes her neck and she shivers at his breath on her skin, soft words barely audible. "And what is it you do want, exactly?" He knows he shouldn't ask, he should just take this and be grateful for it; but he can't, he _can't_, he's not Jim, he has to know how far he's allowed to fall before he jumps.

"Right now, you," she says with a smirk, "as many ways as I can have you." He bites his lip over an involuntary sound; she shouldn't say things like that when she's so close and her skin is so smooth under his hands it's amazing he's still forming complete sentences. She takes his reaction as encouragement and presses closer, her lips brushing his cheek. "Later... who knows? I was thinking we could figure it out as we go along."

This time when she kisses him, he doesn't think. She's soft and warm and sitting in his damn lap; he's been hard since before he hit the mattress, been wanting her so long he doesn't remember what it's like not to look at her and ache. Her knees slide closer to his hips, her hands framing his face, and McCoy feels her breath shallow out in time with his at the frisson of heat building between them. Mumbling encouragement, they help each other shed their clothes, somehow without moving more than strictly necessary; Uhura seems to like it in his lap and he's really not about to argue.

She reaches up to pull out the tie that holds her hair, and it shakes down around them in waves. McCoy buries his hands in it, his eyes dark as they settle on hers; it's a still, slow moment, one they both savor. Then she kisses him again, licking sensuously into his mouth, and the moment's over. In seconds they're barely breathing, urgent hands everywhere they can reach, pressing closer with every second, trying to climb inside each other's skin.

Everything blurs after that, a cacophony of touches and tongues and breathless encouragement, her nails in his back, his teeth on her shoulder, her bright eyes and wicked smile the only things tying him down to reality. His hands splay across her shoulder blades, holding her as she shivers apart, his name on her lips the sweetest thing he's heard in years. He follows her down, his face pressed into the welcoming curve of her neck, clinging to her while he remembers how to breathe again.

They end up lying the wrong way on the bed, their feet where the pillows would be if they hadn't been tossed to the floor, flushed and grinning. McCoy's got one arm under his head, his other hand straying lightly up and down her arm, the new skin he'd regrown so painstakingly. Uhura catches his chin with her fingers and pulls up so he meets her eyes.

He knows she can read it all in his face, everything he feels, stripped bare if she cares to see it. He's not a man of words, but even if he had any for how he's feeling right now, he doesn't know that he'd use them; if he's learned anything from the past few weeks, it's that talking usually only gets him in trouble.

"Don't worry," Uhura murmurs, shifting closer as her arm snakes around his waist. She tucks her head in under his chin and murmurs against his skin, "I'm here. Not going anywhere, okay?" There's a pause, and McCoy hears the humor in her voice as she adds, "Unless you were planning to kick me out, in which case I'm fairly confident in my ability to kick your ass for rights to one of those pillows."

Even now, it's a surprise to find himself laughing, and he pulls back to look down at her, warm eyes sparkling, her smile making his brain shout out every cliché in the book. "My pillows are yours," he says, "no ass-kicking necessary. Unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case we can talk about it," he adds, deadpan, his whole body flooded with satisfaction at how hard she laughs.

"Well, Doctor Science Officer, you'll just have to do some experiments to find out what I'm into, won't you?" she murmurs as she relaxes against him, fingers tracing aimless patterns against his skin.

McCoy presses a kiss to her temple, smirking. "I never conduct experiments without Chapel as a research assistant." She snorts, shaking her head a little; he can't see her face, but he thinks he's probably not the only one grinning.

A minute later he glances down to see her eyes have slipped shut. Sensing his movement, she smiles and murmurs, "See you in the morning." McCoy pulls a sheet over them both and curls around her, telling the computer to dim the lights, thinking that while he can never tell Jim this, it's nonetheless true that sometimes his stupid schemes do actually pay off.


End file.
